


(and I love myself a lot more than) I love you

by BigScaryDinos



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Derogatory Language, Dom/sub, F/M, Fantasizing, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No Happy Ending Fest, Non-Graphic Violence, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 19:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigScaryDinos/pseuds/BigScaryDinos
Summary: "What are you gonna do about it?”“Would you like me to do something about it.” His voice was just a low hiss, his body so so fucking close that Gallant wanted to reach out and touch him.Yes. Yes. Yes.ORWhat would have happened had Langdon not stopped the interview when he did.





	(and I love myself a lot more than) I love you

At first, his biggest concern was acing the test., simple as that.

 

He had never been good at tests and could close his eyes and think back to a time when he  had sat, nervous with knots inside his stomach at a desk, number two pencil cluched in his sweaty hand as he blankly stared at a standardized test.

 

All the numbers; one, two, three, four would blur into one large shape. A squiggle on the page while his eyes tried to adapt like he was in a dark room. Other kids would work and the sound of lead against paper haunted his young mind.

 

He had barely passed that test. Scored the bare minimum to keep him out of the classroom where they kept kids who had to wear helmets to school and sucked their own toes. His motto was ‘C’s get degrees’ but even that didn’t really help. He couldn’t pretend that he was interested in medicine or law or crunching numbers for a fortune 500 company before tax season.  He just wasn’t going down that path with it’s studying and tests. Coming to class at seven am with a coffee in hand and a binder full of highlighted notes wasn't for him. He'd rather get caught jacking off the school quarterback  under the bleachers while they passed a blunt between them.

 

If life was like Harry Potter he would be the Ron and not the Hepatitis C - or whatever the girl was called.

 

Unsurprisingly he’d never read the books.

 

And now, as he sat in a stiff-backed chair in a room with only candlelight and twisted his hands together to wring out the sweat he understood that despite the odds he had beat them all. Those doctors and lawyers, the Harvard grads and teachers - they were all dead. The desks he sat at, all the jocks he'd fucked, the kids who couldn’t count past twenty, the steps he ran up every day through high school were all dust.

 

It calmed him a little.

 

Nana had told him on his graduation day that if you love what you do you'll never work a day in your life. Since there were no openings for a high paying sex slave he had to settle for something else.

 

He was a hairdresser and while he couldn’t tell you all fifty state capitals or the last ten presidents; not that either of those things mattered _anymore_ , he did have a sort of quick-wittedness about him that forced him to think on his feet. If a girl comes in asking for the Rachel and halfway through the cut and dye it starts turning in a Monica you had best learn how to fix it or sell it.  He’s sold bobs to girls with faces rounder than the moon and still made them thank him for it, and he would say at the end of the day it wasn’t half bad. He liked what he did and most days that had been enough.

 

When your curling iron breaks and you’re fresh out of school with no client list to yourself yet and the see you next tuesday in the stall next to you hides hers half way up her snatch you learn to improvise. The select skills he had learned over the years had primed him and put him in the perfect position for getting the last seats on a plane to salvation.  With all of that aside he was living in the here and now while all those bitches were burried under ten tons of atomic fallout.

 

The past was dead but fashion was forever and somehow this all made it worth living.

 

Fashion aside the man standing in front of him made things worth living.  He’d be lying to himself and everyone around him if seeing somebody so... _different_ didn’t make him ache just a little.  He crossed his legs and uncrossed them.

 

He wondered for the millionth time what the test would be. Dead history, math, style, would he have to prove that his genetic material was worth carrying on? That was the end game of course and his mind leapt through hoops thinking of what he would have to do. The bold faced lie that looked them all in the face every morning he dared to open his eyes - he didn’t have worthy genetic material; didn’t have the right stuff. He didn’t even have the right money, just stole a seat on a plane to the end of the Earth because he happened to know the right people.

 

That was a selling point; he knew how to fight, to push for things he wanted. Wouldn’t a new generation need something like that? A man with a strong will. He would swim through oceans just to get to the other side of this mess, that was all he wanted.  He would do just about anything that was asked of him, not like he was going anywhere fast. A ticket on the plane or bus or whatever the fuck they needed him to hop on to get where he needed to go was all he asked as the price to whatever act he was suppose to perform. 

 

It seemed like the air around them dropped in temperature by ten degrees when he finally decided to open his mouth, tired of waiting and willing to break the silence. 

 

“So how’s this work?”

 

He was met with such a blank and unwavering stare he assumed there was a problem. Another heartbeat ticked by until -

 

“I’m not gonna tell you what criteria I’m using to grade you. Things you may feel are helpful may be hurtful. Things you may feel will compel rejection may be exactly what I’m looking for.”  With a voice so monotone it cut through the cold air like a knife. The promise of outthinking and overstepping flushed from his system. He looked at the man across from him,  Langdon didn’t smile. Didn’t seem to breath. The candles flickered around them.

 

“So I can’t game the system?”

 

“If you hedge I will know. If you lie I will know. And if you try to trick me, I will know, and this interview will be over and you will die here, painfully. Are we clear?”

 

He nodded short and curt but something about the way he said _painfully_ didn’t sit exactly right. He assumed it was suppose to sit inside his stomach like a pit but insde it traveled down, down, down. It hung in the air like a threat - or a promise.

 

“What is your sexual orientation?”

 

“I’m gay, but I fucked a girl before in high school, and I finished and everything. She did too.” That somehow felt important to include. Langdon’s eyes didn’t seem impressed or even concerned. It seemed like there was nothing there, so he pushed on. “I think. It’s harder to tell with girls. Um...but I’m just saying I can do that, you know, for, procreation if I have to.” He rubbed his eyes as if he could clear the memories. It wasn’t a particularly bad one, but wasn’t great either.

 

It had been during his questioning faze, a time when he wasn’t exactly sure and didn’t know if he could commit to one thing or another. He’d fingered girls plenty of times, guys too. All holes felt the same in one way or another. He’d even gone so far as to eat a girl out. He could still remember the feeling of cheap wine burning in his sinuses and heating him up from the inside out as he spread her on his bed and pulled her panties down with his thumbs. He may have been a little high if he was being honest. It was his first big night with coke and it buzzed inside his veins in a way nothing else ever had or would again.

 

She did squeal and moan and wrap her fingers through his much longer hair; she begged him wordlessly and his mouth was saturated. He’d never understand all the songs and books and movies and porn when a man comes up from a drenched pussy, his mouth soaking wet saying some romance novel shit  like _you taste so good._

 

No, you didn’t. She didn’t. Nobody ever did. No man or woman ever really tasted good. It was love and lust that spurned you on to lap their clit until your tongue went dead inside your mouth or eat their asshole until they begged god for it to stop.

 

All that was in the past now, but he had to motivate and market. The more skills he had the better it would be.  He had to be an asset, something they couldn’t leave behind.

 

At the end of the world you have to be your own fairy godmother and when the moment was right he had to turn a twink into a red blooded American male with a body full of baby gravy looking for a fertile and genetically perfect female.  Langdon’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

 

“We have techniques for harvesting genetic material. We still need a woman’s womb to incubate the fetus, for now, but your ability to impregnate some poor girl isn’t needed. “ For a second a thought flickered through the room. Some concern of the interview being over. Then Langdon moved, inched forward on his chair to lean across the desk so _dangerously_ close that if you were sitting across from him you could notice small details, his eyelashes, the slight turn of his nose.  “Tell me about your anger. Tell me about your grandmother.”

 

Concern instead of the conflicting feelings stirring inside of him.

 

“Why would you put those two things together?” There was no answer, only Langdon’s fingers touching his face and his eyes open and waiting. Watching.  “Okay, I hate her fucking guts.”

 

“Good.”  Such a quick response to such a powerful emotional statement should be questionable and yet, it wasn’t. “Why?”

 

“Because she wants me to be the perfect gay. Married, with a pair of Yorkies, and a collection of Wedgwood dishes.”

 

“A eunuch.”

 

“A eunuch. That’s not me at all. I’m not that old, but I’m old enough to remember when sucking dick was both a way to get off and  an act of political rebellion. “

 

“She’s shamed you. In the past”

 

The air became thicker, even colder is possible. A chill cut through the thick layers of dark purple and bit into his bones. Unease. Attraction. Fear.

 

“What do you know?”

 

If there was every anything that could be described as a sly smile it was on Langdon’s face now. His lips spread and his teeth; every pearly perfect white was visible. It was a look of knowing, a childish taunting grin that seemed to say that _I know so much more than you._

 

“Maybe,” he started before rising from his chair, his fingers just inches from the edge of the smooth wooden desk. “I have a file that tells me all your secrets,” he walked around the desk between them, narrowing the distance. “Or maybe I’m sensing something, or maybe I’m just fishing.” He stopped at the chair next to the prone man and brought a leg up to rest on it, choosing instead to sit on the desk. And outsider might see this as keeping the upper hand, maintaining the control and withholding the established dominance. There were no outsiders and Gallant didn’t move an inch. Didn’t dare to breath even while the taller man situated himself. “Tell me who you really are.”

 

“Are you looking for some kind of confession?”

 

“I’m not a priest. I don’t even know if I believe in God. I mean, if there was a God why would he allow the Armageddon? The concept of sin does seem a bit antiquated. Rules for keeping the chaos at bay. No need for rules anymore; the chaos has won.”

 

So much at once. After so few words passing those lips during the course of the interview it was like a waterfall and strangely  the urge was to confess. Something about Langdon inspired it, urged the need to cleanse yourself.

 

And so he confessed, laid his story of his hatred for his family out on the table as bare and naked as the day he was born. A story of lunches shared with people who all seemed to mutually hate each other for no point other than some kind of mutually assured destruction of dignity.The way that Gallant could ruin an evening with just his own personality and a driving desire to say _fuck it all._

 

With the entire story there he was ready for judgement. A no pass zone and a revoked ticket for those would could not bend to the system.

 

“So you like leather?”

 

“I like a lot of things.”  It was only now things seemed to be sliding into place, a lock into a key opening a dark door that showed nothing behind it. The tilt of Langdon’s head and his teeth catching his lips for just a second.  “Can I ask you something?” Before he could wait too long for the no he was sure would come he pressed on, “Are you gay? Cause I’m getting a real major hit off you.”

 

“Does the idea of that excite you?”  His voice never changed pitch, never wavered and yet it was working all the same. It was soft and firm at the same time. It was like fingers pressing against your spine but in all the right ways. _Yes. Yes. Yes._ His mind seemed to scream and what was the point in lying now?

 

“Yes.” Much softer than he thought it could sound. He wanted to grovel and beg Wanted to suck every inch of skin from toes to cock and back again. Wanted to worship him.  Wanted to be told what to do. He was absolutely starving for something, anything at all and this was his chance, but he had to play it right. “What are you gonna do about it?”

 

“Would you like me to do something about it.” His voice was just a low hiss, his body so _so_ fucking close that Gallant wanted to reach out and touch him. _Yes. Yes. Yes._

 

“Yes.” It was breathless and thready and nearly died off inside his throat. He narrowed his eyes for a second, it had been so goddamn long. Years. It had been years without contact, without human touch. He’d die for this; happily. “Yes.” Louder, clearer.

 

Langdon reached out, his fingers so white against the flickering light. The touch was feather light against his face, just a fingertip against his cheek, a lazy and slow trail to the very corner of his lips and he parted them eagerly and happily. Every second was electric, _yes_ , he understood, _I could take a bullet for this._

 

“Gallant. What would you have me do?” Langdon's index played against his skin for another heartbeat. It sounded condescending. It sounded beautiful, his name coming from those lips.

 

“Anything.” His eyelids fluttered for a second. “Everything.” Langdon leaned closer and closer and closer until there was nothing between them but a shared breath. The gap closed and it was lips against lips. It wasn’t a tender kiss, it was barely anything at all.  It felt more like the memory of a kiss than the actual thing, just a ghost against him before it was pulled away.

 

“Clean my boots.” And for a moment Gallant wasn’t sure what he meant, didn’t know were to get a towel or tissue or even at all what Langdon was talking about. He must have allowed the puzzled look to cross his face or didn’t jump fast enough because another request was issued. “With your mouth.”

 

Like that Gallant turned into a puddle, just a stickly melting mess that was like putty. He _wanted_ to of course, he could feel his own cock starting to harden under his layers and layers of clothes. He slipped from the chair and fell to his knees, with Langdon propping both feet on the edge of  the chair. Gallant readied himself, mouth to leather and swept his tongue over the top of the shoe.

 

He’d never had a foot fetish; instead it was about the act, the humiliation and pain.  It made him burn the way drugs did. It made his eyes roll back in his head and his chest heave as he strained his neck in a better position to reach each and every crease of the leather.

 

“Now don’t soak them, boy.”  The comment only made his mouth water more. He had to swallow again and again tasting nothing at all. Having been sterilized before coming in they weren’t truly dirty. Even if they were he would still be on his knees.  “Good, good boy. What do you say?”

 

“Thank you.”  This was not his first rodeo, not at all and had a feeling what was expected.

 

“Thank you…?”

 

“Thank you, daddy?”  An uneasy question, this part was always guesswork and the soft tsking noise above him made him change his mind.  He tried again. “Thank you, sir?”

 

“Much better.”

 

“Yes, sir.” A shive crept up Gallant’s spine and into his brain. Nothing much was left, no more math questions or witty answers.

 

“Would you like me to fuck you?” Langdon asked without emotion, it was as if he were asking to pass the salt.

 

“Oh fucking, please, yes, sir, please. Yes. I want to be yours. Please.”  He sat on the backs of his heels waiting, his eyes nearly watering. He palmed the front of his own pants and felt desperation growing alongside himself. “Anything, please.” The words wouldn’t stop coming. He thought of rifle shells and sweat. Come slicking his thighs and what a bullet would feel like between his eyes. He wondered if he could feel falling to the ground, wondering if it would feel at all like the firm hands pulling his shoulders and pushing him to his feet then to be bent over the desk.

 

“Beg me. Show me you need it. “

 

“I need it, it’s been so long, I just need you. God I fucking need you.”  His pants were tugged without care to his knees, his shirt pushed up to his shoulder blades.  He squirmed with a type of fervent desperation he’d never faced before.

 

“There is no God here.”  A stiff shuffling of clothes pulled to the side, pushed out of the way. Gallant gripped the edge of the desk, waiting so desperately for any kind of sensation that his knuckles turned from red to white.

 

“Oh, fucking you are. You can be my God. I can fucking worship you. Please fuck me. Please, sir. I need it.”

 

It was dry and hard and fast and it hurt. God it fucking hurt and it was amazing. There was friction, his cock was fantastic. It filled every inch, every part of him that needed something - anything at all. His mouth could do nothing more than beg for more.

 

A hand twined in his hair, pushing his face against the wood. His face pressed so hard against the unwelding surface, his own cock rubbing against the oak surface so painfully raw he’d have bruises. Holding his breath he pushed back, hips to hips, gasping and gaping at the intrusion.

 

Langdon said nothing, it was like he wasn't even there if not for the physical pressure, the sensation inside his ass forcing him open.

 

“Oh I fucking love you.” He couldn’t help it, it just slipped through like a sloppy mistake meeting the floor. The sensation nearly stopped, the rough and constant friction of cock against ass slowed to a crawl.

 

“Do you think I love you?”

 

 _No,_ actually. Gallant didn’t actually think Langdon loved him at all and that only made it better. He didn’t want love and tenderness. He wanted somebody who hated him to fuck him raw until he bled and cried and thanked him for the ride. He didn’t think Langdon was capable of loving anybody, and it was perfect. He wanted to be treated like shit, wanted to be told terrible awful things that nobody should want to hear.

 

“No.”

 

“I don’t. Not at all.” Fingers were pulled him his the back of his skull, “you like that.” The fingers traced the bumps of his spine. “You love that.”

 

“Yes.” His face finally free from the wood and able to communicate he gasped. Yes. He loved it.

 

“Do you know I could kill you?” His fingers were so gentle, all movement ceased, a few candles flickered then died.

 

“Yes.” Gallant’s cock hurt, it ached against him. Latex or lace Langdon was doing something to him, twisting his body to fit the right things he needed. He wanted to be touched, wanted to be sucked and stroked and couldn’t even begin to ask.

 

“Does that make you hard?”

 

What a senseless question, of course it did. He didn’t even feel the need to answer.  There was such a mix of love and hatred, adoration mixed with anger inside his brain.

 

“Suck me.” He said, his voice still monotone, emotionless. And god yes, he would. He flipped onto his back without any fanfare and slipped to his knees, feeling the cold stone hit his bones like a hammer.

 

He opened his mouth without being asked and accepted the hardness before him. It was only natural and a show of admiration. It was like praying at an alter.

 

If anyone had told Gallant that their partner tasted ‘good’ he would call bullshit. Nobody tasted good. Everyone tasted like sweat and ass and some mix of old come sitting around too long. Nothing good, but Langond - he was different. His cock tasted like honeycomb, natural and sweet and dripping down his throat. He was starving man and wanted more.

 

He swallowed every inch until it reached the back of his throat, and with no more room Langdon began to fuck his face in earnest. Rough with skin hitting skin quickly and almost randomly.

 

Gallant pulled his lips into the perfect O and hid away his teeth, allowed his mouth to be used while his hands found a purchase in the folds of the pants gathered around Langdon’s thighs. They were quickly slapped away.

 

“Did I say you could touch me?” His voice was so callous, still so quiet in the hushed room filled with Gallant’s own soft grunts and the wet sound of suction back by his molars. He shook his head as best he could. “One more touch and I’ll cut them off. Do you think I have any use for them at all?”

 

Again a shiver straight down Gallant’s spine and directly into the base of his own waiting and leaking hardness, a small accumulation of drops between his spread, bare legs. Saliva soaked his lips and dripped from his neck and chest to meet the precome gathering on the ground.

 

“Don’t even think of touching yourself.” The voice was a grab bag. Nails on a chalkboard, softly blowing wind, teeth grinding against each other until there was nothing but painful roots inside infect gums. “Do you think I won’t leave you here to rot. You have no value to me, at all.”  Gallant whined deep in his throat.

 

There was no warning when he was about to come, no courtesy wave or the common _I’m about to…_ There was nothing at all, just silence and the pathetic sounds that Gallant was making, bucking his hips against the air for some kind of release he knew wasn’t coming.

 

The come itself tasted thick like syrup. It was unnatural and stick and didn’t seem to want to slide down his throat the way it should have. It tasted like sugar and faux smoke from the nightclubs in the early 2000s. It tasted like pina cola and all the best things Gallant had almost forgotten about - but it was short lived.

 

Almost as soon as the taste hit his brain with sharp shock waves there was a new pain. This new pain was something he’d never had before and it was so sudden he almost didn’t know what it was; but it was there all the same. This burning pain inside his throat, growing across his whole neck from the inside out. There was a moment of panic; allergies and intolerance before the realization that this wasn’t going away, was getting worse and his head was so light. His chest drenched in something he didn’t understand. A hand to his bare skin then pulled before his face showed crimson in the dim lights.  

 

He tried to pull away and couldn’t, Langdon held him close, his cock still hard and in his mouth, filling every inch as the world darkened. This throat was a torn gash of skin, oozing blood onto the saturated floor under him.

 

_Why_

 

But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered but the searing pain, the unfulfilled heat urging his hips to their sporadic movement. The world was going, going, almost gone when Langdon cleared his throat.

 

The world was clear when Gallant opened his eyes, Langdon standing near the open door. Nothing seemed out of the norm, his clothing was in place, no slit through his skin but the ghost of pain lingering on him like a perfume he couldn’t get enough of. There was an ache to him just below the waist, his cock was still hard and his ass felt used, there was no evidence. His mouth was clear, dry.

 

“Is...Is my interview over?” He asked, confused. A wild daydream or a fantasy or a delusion, maybe he would never know.

 

“Yes, it is. We can continue this conversation some...other time.” Langdon replied, his hands on the door, his own clothing perfect. Not a single drop of blood on him, not a hair out of place. Gallant flushed with humiliation. “Did you wander off there for a minute?”

 

“Sorry. I guess…” He trailed off.

 

Gallant was sure he’d die here.


End file.
